


broken skin and a happy grin

by ClassyFangirl



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, F/M, Sober Gamzee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassyFangirl/pseuds/ClassyFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Terezi reflects on hating Gamzee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	broken skin and a happy grin

**Author's Note:**

> I have many, many ships that aren't this one, and this is the one I keep writing anyway.

The blood beneath her nails smells like sour grapes.

She absently scrapes it out as she examines the marks on her hips. They’re not as deep as they could’ve been; she tore at his shoulders when he dug in too hard, pulled at his hair as he laughed against her pelvis. Terezi runs her fingers around one side, counting out the indents in her skin, one, two, three, four, five.

Her body stinks of greasepaint and dry blood- only to be expected, since he keeps company almost exclusively with corpses. But Dave and Mayor Licorice do not have noses as keen as hers, so she slips into her regular clothes without worry.

They are wild children with no use for labels; quadrants have no purpose for the last few people in two universes. But Karkat has, in between colorfully insulting them, their lusi, and, inevitably, himself, declared them kismeses, and she does loathe Gamzee like her soul is aflame, so yes, she supposes that if anyone can claim to be her kismesis, it is that dreadful juggalo.

She detests him because he is injustice personified. He has killed their friends and for that he should hang, but the fact is that there are so few living trolls left, so they need him. She grits her teeth and bile rises in her throat when she smells his lazy smirk; he is free of guilt and charged with no crime.

“Aw, sis,” he said to her once, “I know I don’t get my motherfuckin’ sad on about what I all up and did. But hey-” and he leaned in close enough that she could smell chocolate brown blood still on his breath “-I ain’t so sure that you do either.”

She slapped him then and he laughed. “Don’t think that I don’t feel regret,” she said. “But I, at least, had a purpose.”

“So do I, baby girl. I got all kinds of divine motherfuckin’ purpose. Mine just ain’t got nothin’ to do with _you and your uptight little laws._ ” He leaned down to be face-to-face with her. “See, we’re just too motherfuckin’ different, sis. In another life, I bet we’d make a fine motherfucking team. But that other me would have _lies_ all up in his thinkpan, like my poor motherfuckin’ _high_ self did. You got your old laws. I got my new laws. I got my truth at motherfuckin’ last.”

That was the first time she kissed him, the first time he dug his claws into her bony shoulders. The memory is a fond one, and she laughs when she remembers him saying, “Terezi fuckin’ Pyrope, I ain’t too sure about your motherfuckin’ intentions.”

“Then pay closer attention,” she’d replied.

He is more vocal, more willing to say things like, “I loathe you like nature abhors a motherfuckin’ vacuum, girl, I hate you more than your law-filled brain can _comprehend._ ”

Terezi always laughs and says, “Shut up, idiot,” and she bites down on a stretch of exposed skin. She likes the way purple blooms on gray.

She hates him, hates him with passion that burns black deep inside her, and nothing pleases her more than the fact that he just might despise her even more.


End file.
